


Sorry

by TheMewsAtTen



Series: Tomorrow [2]
Category: God's Own Country, God’s Own Country (2017)
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, One Shot, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 03:08:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14251743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMewsAtTen/pseuds/TheMewsAtTen
Summary: The second in the six-part series 'Tomorrow'.I hope you enjoy!Come and see me over on tumblr if you're into that kind of thing https://themewsatten.tumblr.comAs ever, I do not claim to own this world or these characters. I write entirely for pleasure, not for profit, and no copyright infringement is intended.





	Sorry

Johnny itched for a drink sometimes.

He’d knocked it on the head quite a bit since Gheorghe came back with him. He hadn’t actually _asked_ him to cut down, but Johnny knew it meant a lot to him that he had. He found he got his kicks out of making Gheorghe happy these days; that knee-weakening smile that lit up his whole face was as good as any drug Johnny had ever come across.

He _definitely_ didn’t miss the fucking awful hangovers. Early mornings came free with the farming life, and throwing his guts up and having a woolly head till well after dinner had never made them any easier. 

He was quietly thankful for a clear head today. Auction days were stomach-turning enough when you _weren’t_ feeling like shit.

Gheorghe hated the auctions. He said it was because it was all too fast and noisy; that even fluent English speakers barely understood what the hell was going on. Johnny had a feeling there was more to it than that. The blokes you met in these places weren’t all bad, but on the whole it was still the same way it had always been - straight, white, local older men, set in their ways, resistant to change. The immigrant Romanian gay partner of a wet-behind-the-ears young farmer was unlikely to be welcomed with open arms, and Gheorghe was perceptive; he knew when people resented him.

It wasn’t that Johnny minded coming alone. He’d been doing it for a while before Gheorghe had even arrived; ever since his dad had got really bad and had started struggling with the journey, and then with keeping up with things when he got there. But the idea that Gheorghe felt under pressure to keep away made Johnny short-tempered and impatient with everyone, and by the time he left he was usually fixing for a fight.

So, today, he was relieved when it was all over before noon. He’d made the rounds, showing his face a bit on behalf of the Saxbys, making small talk with the right people but not hanging about when he’d done just enough to pass muster and could leave with his head held high. He tried not to make it look like a chore, but it just _was._ Like the mucking out or mending dodgy gates, it was something he _had_ to do, not something he took any pleasure in doing. 

When he finally made it outside he gratefully gulped down a lungful of clean air, trying to clear away the fog of bad breath and the stench of frightened cattle that had been filling his nostrils for the last few hours. He made his way to where he’d parked up earlier, a sudden spring in his step at the prospect of a cuppa and dinner and Gheorghe at home. _His_ Gheorghe.

He looked up, grinding to a halt at the sight of a familiar face just a few feet in front of him. 

His chest tightened, his palms breaking into a sweat. Tall, blond hair, white coat, serious looking and pale but with a furious blush of recognition . . . yes, it was at times like this that the craving for a stiff drink to steady his nerves and jump-start his confidence was so sharp he could taste it.

They both stood motionless for what felt like an age, before the lad gave a stern nod and walked on past him. Johnny felt something weighing in his guts; a kind of balled-up nausea. He started speaking before he really registered that the feeling was guilt.

“It’s . . . it’s Luke, int’it?” he called, looking over his shoulder at the lad’s retreating back.

“Um, y - yeah,” he stammered, half turning, shuffling his feet and studiously avoiding Johnny’s gaze.

“Listen, I’m glad I bumped into you,” Johnny steeled himself, turning to face him, rubbing at his neck nervously. “I’ve been wanting to . . . you probably don’t even remember me,” he shrugged.

“I remember you.” Luke swallowed thickly.

Johnny pushed away the memory of him on his knees in front of him, Johnny’s cock in his mouth . . . “Right. Well, I’ve been wanting to say summat.”

“Right? To me?” 

Johnny couldn’t tell whether Luke was afraid or just mortified. Either way, he had the look of a bloke who’d literally rather be anywhere else at that moment. 

“Aye. When . . . I wanted to say sorry. Reckon I, well, I reckon I was a prick, y’know, last time I spoke to you . . .” 

The memory barged its way back in again, setting shame clawing up Johnny’s throat. The lad had only been asking if Johnny had wanted to see him again. Not a stupid question given that Johnny had just fucked him roughly in a cattle trailer. And Johnny hadn’t wanted to. That hadn’t been what it had been about for him. But when he thought about the cold way he’d rejected him . . . 

“Aye. I suppose. No, not really. It were fair enough,” Luke said resignedly.

“It weren’t though, were it? Well, look, I don’t know you. But you’ve always seemed alright. And even if you’re _not_ alright, well, can’t help thinking you deserved better than the way I were with you. Better . . . than how I treated you, like.”

Luke just smiled. “You’ve changed.”

“Aye. Aye I have. A lot. Weren’t before time, neither, them who know me’ll tell you that.”

“What d’you want me to say, um, it’s Johnny, int’it? What d’you want?”

“Aye. I dunno really. Just . . . I wanted to say I’m sorry. I should’ve made it clear to you I weren’t up for owt more, before we . . . and I should’ve been better ‘bout it when you asked me after. I dunno what it means to you. Fuck all, probably. But stuff’s happened to me lately, good stuff that’s made me think ‘bout how I’ve treated folk. How I’ve treated myself. So I can’t go back and be less of a prick. But I can say sorry. ‘Cause I am. Sorry.”

“You afraid I’m gonna start telling folk ‘bout what we did? ‘Cause I’m not, so you don’t need to worry. It'd hardly look good on me, I were meant to be working, when we, y’know. And I’m not out to make life hard for you and I don’t hold a grudge. Way I see it, at least you never strung me along, y’know?”

“No. I’m not . . . everyone who matters to me knows, ‘bout me, I mean. And I’m not ashamed that we . . . y’know . . . I’m . . . I’m just ashamed of how I handled it.”

Luke nodded knowingly. The lanky, awkward young man suddenly looked disarmingly collected. It made Johnny feel worse. 

“I were never expecting anything, y’know. I mean, I would’ve been up for getting to know you is all. But I weren’t ever hung up on you and you don’t need to fret that you hurt my feelings or owt. And I do know you’re with someone now,” Johnny must have looked shocked; the boy laughed, not unkindly, at the expression on his face, “well, you know word gets about round here, them blokes in there like to make out they’re proper men’s men and that but they gossip like a knitting circle half the time. And for what it’s worth I’m dead happy for you. Looks like it’s good for you. So, far as I’m concerned, there’s no hard feelings, yeah?”

“Thanks. Means a lot to me, does that.”

“Aye, good. It were nice talking to you. _Johnny_.” Luke walked on by with a brief smile.

“Aye, and you. See you round.”

“Aye.”

Johnny got into the driver’s seat, sitting with the steering wheel in a death grip until he was sure he’d stopped shaking enough to drive home. 

\- - - - - - - -

Dad was out with his carer for the day, so Gran had taken the rare chance to head into town to visit friends, and as Johnny pulled into the yard he couldn’t think of anything but being naked and close to Gheorghe’s body.

He walked in to find Gheorghe cleaning the kitchen. He held his hand wordlessly, pulling him into a fierce hug. It took Johnny right back to that first time in the hut, when he’d wanted to fuck but Gheorghe had slowed his hands, held him and touched him. It had broken the dam in Johnny, the need for closeness flooding in, and in that moment he had thought he would never, ever feel like he’d touched Gheorghe enough; that it was something in him that would never be satisfied. 

He pulled away, taking Gheorghe by the hand again, leading him upstairs, slowly and silently. 

In their bed, Johnny lay on his back so that Gheorghe could bury his cock inside him. Gheorghe looked into his eyes, snapping his hips roughly with every thrust but gazing at Johnny with complete tenderness, letting him give in to the need to be taken and touched and cared for that Gheorghe himself had woken in him, up in that hut not so long ago. 

Johnny touched back, and kissed back, letting himself go limp against the feeling of peace, the truth of the fact that Gheorghe had found him and was his and was here; how much he loved him in ways that made him want to be good enough for him, to say sorry when he was wrong and to try to be right and decent if he could. 

He lay against Gheorghe’s bare chest afterwards, leaning towards his heat. He was always so warm. Even when the cold was so biting it stiffened your muscles painfully, Gheorghe was warm and soft and pliant and _real_. 

They still hadn’t said a word to each other. They spoke a lot more now than they had at first, but Johnny was calmed by the understanding that he could still be silent with Gheorghe; that they could still say more to each other in one deliberate, careful caress than a lot of people could in a whole conversation. 

“Something happened today?” Gheorghe asked after a while, his question simple, his voice an easy, low rumble in Johnny’s ear as it rested over his heart.

“Nah it were all fine. Nowt bad, anyway. Just . . . got a chance to say sorry to someone. Someone I didn’t treat nice. A while back. Before you got here, I mean.”

Gheorghe just breathed, in and out, steadying Johnny with every rise and fall of his broad chest.

“A man?” he asked quietly.

“Aye. It weren’t serious, mind,” Johnny added quickly, wincing at how defensive he sounded. “Just a one-time thing, don’t want you thinking I’m . . . well, just it weren’t serious and it were never going to be. But I were a prick to him after and it’s been on my mind, like.”

“Then this is good, that you said sorry. You feel better?”

“Aye. I do.”

They lay tangled together, Gheorghe stroking Johnny’s hair, kissing his forehead from time to time, open-mouthed and wet.

“You didn’t want to be with him? He is a nice man?” Gheorghe feathered his fingers over the bumps of Johnny’s spine.

The touch made Johnny feel placid and precious, the sound of Gheorghe trying to hide his insecurity making his heart feel ready to burst with the purest love he could possibly imagine. He wasn’t sure how to say that the last thing he had been looking for when Gheorghe had come into his life had been love - this amazing feeling that made him want to be sober when he could be drunk, or cuddling when he could be fucking. He couldn’t find the words to make Gheorghe understand that there had been a moment there, after that blow job on the hillside, when he just knew he _wanted_ and that he couldn’t fuck or suck the want away, that he had been falling in love, even then, and that in that moment Johnny had hated Gheorghe a little bit for making him feel things he wasn’t ready for, things that terrified him. It wasn’t a time in Johnny’s life when he was waiting for someone to come and make him complete. Gheorghe hadn’t been perfect timing. He’d just been _him_. 

“Aye, he’s a nice man.” Johnny admitted gruffly. “But he ain’t _you_ , is he?”

**Author's Note:**

> I felt dreadful for the young auctioneer who Johnny has sex with at the beginning of the film, and I really feel like finding Gheorghe would make Johnny think back to less happy times and regret some of his decisions. I like the idea that he gets the chance to put some things right, and to let that sweet guy know that he was never the problem. As someone with a problematic relationship with alcohol, I know that recovery comes with masses of guilt. 
> 
> I've called the auctioneer lad 'Luke'. Perhaps he had a name in the film, but I can find no trace of it, and I even checked on IMDB. If anyone knows differently, I am more than happy to be corrected. I just thought he looked like a Luke!


End file.
